The Ones Worth Suffering For
by journal129
Summary: A trip to Delphi station goes awry when Knockout and Ratchet encounter a deadly plague. The downside? Lots of people are dead. The upside? So are the DJD. The second downside? Knockout has to care for a mini-con. A very glitchy mini-con at that. Nickel, the DJD's medic, seems determined to make Knockout's life miserable. But she's hiding something, and he's going to find out what.
1. Conversations and Threats

**Inspired by Sidekicks-Anonymous' story "Yin and Yang" about Knockout and First Aid, and the roleplay we're doing together. Because if** ** _she_** **can make a story about Knockout learning to care, so can I.**

* * *

 _Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you. You just gotta find the ones worth suffering for._

"Have you ever heard of Delphi?"

That was the opening sentence used to initiate this particular conversation with Knockout. The red racer raised an optic ridge, sipping his drink of high grade. "Of course I have." He drawled, uninterested. "Who hasn't? It's the DJD's stomping grounds."

Ratchet sat across from him, with a glass of his own high grade. "Something like that—but it's also home to an Autobot medical outpost."

Knockout eyed him incredulously. "The DJD is ruthless. They murder anyone that suits their fancy, be it an Autobot in their way or a Decepticon traitor on their list. How is it that an Autobot outpost exists in their very shadow, and remains completely unscathed?"

"I imagine they have more important things to do than massacre harmless Autobots. And perhaps they appreciate having a medical facility nearby in case of emergencies." Ratchet folded his hands together. "In any case, I'm going to pay them a visit."

"Why?" This was certainly getting interesting.

The Autobot CMO sighed. "Last night, a message was sent last night through Fistiron's datalog—"

"Whose datalog?"

"Never mind." Ratchet waved it off. "Point is, something fishy's going on with Delphi's death rates. They've been increasing with unnatural regularity." His faceplates grew stern. "Something's wrong, and I'm going to figure out what. Would you care to accompany me?"

Knockout laughed at the suggestion. "Me? An ex-'Con? Going to Delphi? Right into the DJD's arms? No thank you."

Ratchet scowled, folding his arms and giving Knockout a serious glare. "As a medic, you're obligated to help those in need."

"Not when that need gets me brutally tortured and murdered." Knockout refuted. "Have you _seen_ what the DJD can do? Because I have. Firsthand." He reclined in his chair. "A traitor was made an example of when I was first admitted to the Decepticon ranks. He was a...mentally-ill ex-Decepticon who thought he was a sparkeater. His real name was Blip. And do you know what they did to him?"

Ratchet held up a hand. "Spare me. I know it's gruesome and will probably make me purge my fuel tanks."

"Well, isn't _that_ the understatement of the century?" Knockout's optics narrowed seriously. "The thing is, Ratchet, I'm on The List."

"The war is over!"

"Has anyone told the DJD that?"

"There's a low chance the DJD are actually _there_ right now."

"At their home base?" Knockout rolled his optics. "Please, are you _that_ lowly-educated?"

The medic gave him a deadpan look. "We're going to a medical facility."

"Whose problem may be _caused_ by the DJD!"

"You're coming with me to Delphi." Ratchet said coolly. "Even if I have to drag you there myself—"

"Not interested."

"—and take away your detailing supplies."

Knockout jolted. "You wouldn't dare..."

The Autobot CMO smirked triumphantly. "I gave you those supplies, I can take them away. And if I give the order, you won't be able to buy any more with all the Shanix in the universe."

Knockout glared death at him, then looked down at his glass. "...I suppose. Very well, I'll accompany you." He transformed his hand into a buzzsaw and pointed it at Ratchet for emphasis. "Touch my detailing supplies, and energon will spill."


	2. Entry 001

**Okay, so it's occurred to me that some of you may not know who the DJD is. If that's the case, message me, I'll tell you all I know, including giving pictures.**

* * *

 _Journal Entry 001: Let's get this straight from the start: I'm nobody special. I've not saved the life of a Prime or a Senator or a progenitor. I've not discovered the cure for form fatigue, or won the Nominus Prize for medicine, and (as far as I know) they haven't named a spaceship after me. The point is, no one's asked me to write this journal. This is something I've decided to do myself._

 _"You never show any initiative," says Ambulon. Yeah, well, this is me showing initiative. This is me trying to tell the outside world what's gone wrong. Because what's happening here cannot be allowed to happen again. Not ever._

 _My name's First Aid. I'm a nurse. I used to be a doctor, but I was demoted. I was accused of "erratic behavior and obsessive/compulsive tendencies." "Rung's words, not mine," Ambulon said._

 _Ambulon's my ward manager. Tetchy. Really bad paintwork—you can still see his old life underneath. I don't mean to speak ill of the soon-to-be-dead, but he can be a real gearstick sometimes._

 _I mean, obsessive...? I have a passing interest in Autobot badges. That is all. Apparently it "interfered" with my work._

 _I'm just typing whatever comes into my head right now. If I get a chance, I'll come back and edit out all the silly little details. Or maybe I won't. Maybe it's the silly little details that matter._

 _I'm posted at Delphi, a medical outpost on the edges of DJD territory. It's an obscure little facility_ _—or rather, it_ was. _By the time you pull this datapad from what's left of my fingers, "Delphi" will be a swear word, or a threat, or a warning. The kind of word that makes people break eye contact._

 _DJD = Decepticon Justice Division, by the way. They specialize in extreme punishment. They hunt down Decepticons who've defected or deserted and murder them in the most exaggerated way possible. I guess all this started with the DJD. Three days ago there was a knock at the door, and two ex-Decepticons who were begging and pleading for sanctuary. They were genericons. Frontline fodder. You could tell by the size and shape of their badges. They'd been attacked by the DJD and wanted safe haven. We were "obliged" to take them in. Article 7 of the Autobot Code, apparently. Ambulon immediately took pity on them...Pharma immediately_ didn't.

 _Pharma's in charge. Control freak. Thinks he's an expert on everything. Amazing doctor, though. He once performed a four-way fuel pump transplant_ _—and he was one of the donors. Now, Pharma's got this thing about Decepticons. Hates them. I mean, sure, we all hate them. But he hates them. He was about to send our visitors back outside when Ambulon said: "They're weaponless_ _—and clearly traumatized. What are you afraid of? You think they're gonna_ whimper _us to death?"_

 _I inquired about their alt modes_ _—naturally, we needed to at least know them. Pharma agreed with me. For all we knew, they could turn into Class 3 ruination tanks.  
But here's the thing: they didn't have any alt modes. They were members of Triple M. Triple M = Militant Monoform Movement. A religious faction who reject adaptus by having their transformation cogs removed. They showed Ambulon their scars. Pharma confirmed it, scanning them, and said that their transformation cogs had been cut out._

 _The atmosphere changed. These days everyone says they're relaxed about the whole monoformer thing, but there's still a lot of shapism out there_ _—a lot of prejudice.  
Ambulon convinced himself that the genericons were victims of a shape-hate crime. Gets all passionate about it. I remember overhearing the conversation._

 _"For pity's sake, Pharma, they're not carrying anything and they can't turn into anything..."_

 _"Alright_ _—you and First Aid lock 'em up while I prepare the circuit slabs. Just a patch-up job, though_ _—enough to satisfy Article 7_ _—and then we ask High Command what to do with them."_

 _And that was the end of that. Almost. The monos were hurting. They said they had proximity pains, kept reaching for each other. It turns out they shared a branched spark_ _—a sort of overlapping nervous system. And because they were so close to full synthesis, Pharma was going to have to operate. If he conjoined them, it might save their lives._

 _Pharma never got to perform that operation. Because not long after that report, people started crying. Crying themselves to death._ ** _  
_**

"First Aid! Where the hell are you?! I need you to help me hold this one down!"

First Aid looked up at Pharma's words, then quickly typed down the last of his entry.

 _I hope to write more later, but if not_ _—if these are my last words_ _—I just want to say that we tried our best. We did. It just wasn't good enough._

 _—First Aid, Nurse, Delphi Station  
_ _2nd Cycle, 3819_


	3. Briefing and Statistics

"You have _got_ to be joking."

Knockout stood before the duo Ratchet claimed he was bringing with them to Delphi. He'd expected bruisers, like a Seeker or a triplechanger or _someone_ that remotely acted like a bodyguard. And he'd expected more than _two_ of them.

He most certainly hadn't expected _this._

Wheeljack crossed his arms, eyeing Knockout with plain disapproval. "You think I wanna be protecting _your_ sorry aft either, sunshine?" He asked, casually shifting his weight to one side to give him a rebellious look. "Orders are orders. You're stuck with us."

"Us" referred to Wheeljack, of course, and a younger, shorter Autobot named Pipes. He was navy blue, nearly black, with a red visor and a facemask. The "pipes" he was likely named after were a set of smokestacks on either arm. He sported a rifle, but not much else.

In short, it was an intimidating prospect to have a plain, simple mech like Pipes and a rebellious delinquent like Wheeljack responsible for keeping Knockout and Ratchet safe.

Ratchet put a hand on Knockout's shoulder. "Wheeljack, Pipes, you two are coming with us to Delphi station to investigate some alarming information I picked up."

"Fistiron's datalogs, right?" Pipes asked.

Wheeljack raised an optic ridge. "Fistiron?"

"The Wrecker." Ratchet said. "Pipes, you were a subscriber, right? Like me. You had _Wreckers: Declassified_ beamed directly into your brain."

Knockout's optics widened slightly. Ratchet? A Wreckers fan?

"It wasn't Fistiron." Wheeljack said, frowning slightly. "It was Ironfist."

"Fistiron, Ironfist, whatever." Pipes said.

Ratchet nodded. "Which means you received it too—last night—a new datalog."

Pipes shrugged. "It wasn't a proper datalog, though. Just a bunch of random numbers."

The Autobot CMO's optics narrowed. "The 'random numbers' were actually statistics—medical stats. _Survival rates_ , to be precise." Knockout's curiosity was piqued, now. He wanted to know more about the mysterious goings-on at Delphi. "I don't know who sent the datalog, or when—these things take time to travel through subspace—but I know it came from Delphi. I recognize the diagnosis codes."

"Okay...so what?" Wheeljack asked. "What's so special about these statistics?"

"They start two years ago, and at first they fluctuate: between 0% and 20% of the patients are dying every month."

Knockout frowned. "That's within the normal parameters. I don't see what the problem is."

 _"Then_ _—"_ Ratchet continued, ignoring Knockout, "—the death rate starts to climb, and plateau, and climb, and plateau. And for the last six months, precisely half of all patients have died every month."

"Okay, I take it back, I see the problem."

Ratchet looked between the three mechs sternly. "Whoever sent that datalog is trying to tell us something—and I think it's time I made a house call."

"And you want us to come with you?" The ex-Wrecker asked.

"Precisely."

"And how are you going to get there? You don't have a ship."

Knockout lit up, starting to realize why Ratchet had asked _him_ along. "Ah, but Wheeljack, you do."

Wheeljack stiffened. "You want me to give up the _Jackhammer_ for an...energon run?" His optics narrowed. "Are you kidding me?"

"Not 'give up' the _Jackhammer._ " Ratchet said quickly, attempting to placate Wheeljack before he got too upset. "Provide escort."

"And what's in it for me?"

"It's right on the edge of DJD territory. If you're too intimidated..." He trailed off.

The challenge was made, and Wheeljack noticeably hardened. "Pack your bags, boys, we're leaving in ten."

Knockout watched him stomp off, and looked at Ratchet in surprise. "Well, well, dear Doctor, I didn't know you had such a...devious streak in you."

Ratchet chuckled. "When Wheeljack is concerned? You _have_ to."


End file.
